


On His Mouth Like Liquor

by skeletncloset (alexa_dean)



Series: Mouth'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: A/B/O, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bottom Jensen, Breeding, Dirty Talk, First Time, Lap Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manhandling, Model Jensen, Photographer Jared, Rimming, Size Kink, Top Jared, alpha/omega dynamic, ball play, cliche misuse and abuse, nice-guy Jared, smitten Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/pseuds/skeletncloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is old enough now that he’s experienced his first heat, but not old enough to do anything about it, much less how to come on to someone nearly twice his age. In the fashion industry, boys like Jensen are a dime a dozen. Cheekbones and doe-eyes are run of the mill and it surprises Jensen to be as successful as he is—if success were measured by the ability to indulge his mother’s spending habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On His Mouth Like Liquor

Jensen is old enough now that he’s experienced his first heat, but not old enough to do anything about it, much less how to come on to someone nearly twice his age. In the fashion industry, boys like Jensen are a dime a dozen. Cheekbones and doe-eyes are run of the mill and it surprises Jensen to be as successful as he is—if success were measured by the ability to indulge his mother’s spending habits.

Modeling does nothing for Jensen. It pays the bills. Keeps his mother happy. No more than that. But on the other hand his photographer has set up shop in Jensen’s fantasies, has Jensen panting and groaning and spilling into his own hand in the dark of his bedroom more often than not. It makes things awkward in the morning when Jensen is expected to come in for a shoot. 

Because Mr. Jared Padalecki is beautiful, seriously gorgeous, so much so Jensen is convinced Mr. Padalecki should be in _front_ of the camera and not _behind_ it. He’s also the most sought after photographer in the trade. Fortunately or unfortunately, Jensen happens to be the most popular model of the moment, muse to Galliano and Gaultier. 

Initially, the match had been a business venture, set up by Jensen’s agent. Probably still _is_ for Mr. Padalecki. But for Jensen, it’s a bit more complicated and a lot less comfortable and Jensen resents the years between them, because there’s no way Mr. Padalecki sees Jensen as anything more than a snot-nosed kid--a kid with a debilitating crush. 

Most times, Jensen keeps it under control, but other times it bubbles up in a froth at the sight of Mr. Padalecki’s exposed forearms and the low ride of denim on his carved-out hips. Never as low as Jensen wants them to be, but low enough to reveal the tawny crinkle of hair just above the belt, peeking at Jensen, mocking him until Jensen flushes hot and wet all over. 

If Mr. Padalecki notices, he says nothing, Keeps his camera out between them an extension of himself, a direct current of desire tying them like Jensen wants to be tied. Mr. Padalecki's never had to say much-- _good_ and _that’s it_ , and _like that_ , and _yeah_ —just the right thing to get Jensen preening and posturing.

But maybe it’s in the way he says Jensen’s name that does it-- _n’s_ as near an _mmmmm_ or an _nnngh_ as he’s ever heard it, dirtier than any thought Jensen’s ever had of him. For a good Christian boy, Jensen’s had enough of them now to damn him to hell ten times over. 

If he sneaks glances at Mr. Padalecki he can’t be held accountable. Yeah, he might be cataloging the soft fall of bangs over his eyes, his little boy pout, dark shadow of hair on his chest when his shirt yawns open, putting it all away in his spank bank for a rainy day but any hot-blooded teenager would.

He thinks about the silhouette of Mr. Padalecki’s cock in jeans so tight Jensen can tell he’s uncut and imagines what it might feel like to pull back Mr. Padalecki’s foreskin, lick at the head, hidden away from Jensen like a secret. Thinks about how Mr. Padalecki would feel like moving inside him, about the consequent pain of it. 

Jensen thinks of many things when he’s fingering himself open, knees tucked up under his chin because he has to splay and display himself even when he’s alone. As near enough to the real thing as Jensen’s mind can provide. Pictures the way he’d cling to Mr. Padalecki’s knot, how it would stretch him near tearing, the gleam of sweat and come and slick between them. 

Right now though, Jensen has to force those images away, grits his teeth through every one of Mr. Padalecki’s smiles. Maybe, it’s all misplaced loneliness on Jensen’s part—only child, absent father, emotionally unavailable mother. There must be something wrong with Jensen because all he wants is for Mr. Padalecki to play his strings, make him dance on his dick like a marionette. What Jensen should really be doing is chasing tail his own age. 

He leans against the brick wall of Mr. Padalecki’s studio, tongues his lip, broken straight down the middle. Cars grumble in the background. And Jensen’s eyes may be shut but he can feel the camera lens on him.

He slips from one movement to the next in the span of a _shutter-click_. Slick as the curling wisp of desire in his belly. He rocks his hips forward toward the noise, shivering, face burning and hair rising, primed to light as though he were a match to Mr. Padalecki’s flame. 

“Eyes on the camera, kiddo,” Mr. Padalecki says to him now in his deep Texas drawl, authoritative like Jensen imagines a father would be. Jensen doesn’t know what it says about him that he finds it hot. But what he does know is that he wants, wildly and furtively as an animal in the dark. 

There’s an awkward moment when Jensen freezes, unsure what to do with the order, but defaults on rebellion for its own sake and decidedly does not look over at the camera, turning his back to Mr. Padalecki and spreading his arms over his head. Looks over his shoulder with downcast eyes and softly parted mouth. Ass tipped up and out, baring his lower back, the dimples there, and spine like a string of pearls between. 

Jensen knows what he looks like and even better where to look, how to seek light and shadow by the hot and cool of it on his face, on his bared shoulder, an exposed hip. It’s a slippery slope Jensen navigates, expressing desire without intent. Even as he pretends it’s Mr. Padalecki’s hands hovering on him, not quite touching. Can all but feel his blood surface, like a wind rising up, on his skin. 

It makes Jensen crazy, makes him act out in ways that keep Mr. Padalecki’s watchful gaze on him always. Jensen finds himself skidding across the floor like a fool, bare feet providing no friction, grabbing at nothing when he unbalances. 

He lands shot after shot in spite of himself, laughter spinning out of him like cotton candy. His message as clear as Mr. Padalecki’s lens: _this is what it feels like to want you. This is what you do to me._  

Jensen is hopelessly lost for him and can’t understand how it isn’t visible to Mr. Padalecki. How every time he goes to his knees for Jensen--seeking that perfect angle, perfect symmetry to offset the planes of Jensen’s face, for the moment Jensen’s mouth slackens into a soft pout or his tongue curls over his teeth, when his eyes shift from summer day to hothouse--Jensen hardens.

 “Yeah,” Mr. Padalecki encourages and smiles, one corner of his mouth higher than the other, dimple deep enough to fall into, “Just like that. Keep going—“ 

Jensen’s down to a wife-beater and jeans, his hand already on his belt, thumbing the button underneath the buckle, watching it fall apart like a puzzle piece. 

Mr. Padalecki says, “Go with it.” 

Jensen’s experience with sex is limited to a few drunken fumblings at an after party or two. But Jensen couldn’t be persuaded into losing his clothes. Couldn’t imagine giving up his cherry to a stranger. He might not be old enough to drive, but he’s certainly old enough to know he wants to give it to Mr. Padalecki.

He recognizes an opportunity when Mr. Padalecki stops to fumble with the roll in his camera, switching it for another. 

“Can you . . . “ Mr. Padalecki drops the thread of conversation when he looks up to see Jensen suddenly hovering over him and startles somewhat. 

Jensen drops his jeans on the floor, thinking _this is it_. This is Jensen’s one chance and he’s never gonna have another like it so he better start acting like a grown man because there’s no other way Mr. Padalecki is going to take him seriously. 

Slowly, Jensen steps out of the puddle of denim and feels a bit silly in nothing but his tighty whities and undershirt, his nipples poking out just thinking of Mr. Padalecki’s three-in-the-morning shadow rubbing them raw; cotton on the front of his underwear already soaked through, rendered transparent and flesh-colored. 

Jensen can smell himself, musky and sweet, a longing scent, a mating scent. Oh, Jensen wants, he wants deeply and truly and knows Mr. Padalecki must too by the smell of him--nothing like it--an alpha on edge. It makes Jensen pulse and slick up with anticipation. 

Even watching Mr. Padalecki shuffle closer to him on his knees, Jensen flinches at the first touch of palms over his thighs. Gasping as they ride Jensen all the way up to frame his cock, his balls. Jensen can’t gather his breath. It feels like he’s drowning and burning all at once, his vision swims looking at the sleek dark hair on Mr. Padalecki’s head, the drag of his lips along the seam of his thigh. Mr. Padalecki pushes a hand beneath Jensen’s shirt across the smoothness of his belly and traces Jensen’s belly button with the pad of his thumb. 

Jensen can’t figure out what to do with his hands, if he’s allowed to touch or if he should focus on not falling over, so he clinches them at his sides, leans against Mr. Padalecki’s humid mouth, sucking Jensen through the fabric. 

Mr. Padalecki pushes at Jensen and Jensen goes with it, stumbling further and further back until Jensen hits a wall. 

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen begs, for something, anything, because it’s only making Jensen increasingly dissatisfied. 

“ _Jared_ ,” he huffs, “You should call me Jared. I think you’ve earned it.” 

A finger curls over the elastic of Jensen’s underwear and tugs until the cotton is tucked under Jensen’s sac, but Mr. Padalecki— _Jared, call me Jared_ —doesn’t put his mouth on Jensen like Jensen thinks he’s about to. Instead, he’s spinning Jensen around roughly.

No guidance in his intent, nothing but bruising force. He’s got his hands spread-out over the apples of Jensen’s asscheeks, kneading them, his mouth on the shy curve of Jensen’s ass, where it meets his thigh, and the pad of a fingertip covers what slick has managed to escape Jensen, because Jensen wants, oh fuck, does he.

It’s hot and wet and ever so sloppy. Jensen can almost feel the strings and bubbles of Jared’s spit. Tongue spread wide, wide as a horizon as he laps at Jensen in broad strokes, gathering Jensen’s slick and pushing it back inside.

 “You ever--” Jared husks, a sound rich and harsh as whiskey, like he hasn’t used it in a while.

 “No,” Jensen interrupts because he thinks he won’t be able to go through with it if Jared finishes the question. 

“S’okay. I’ve got you.” Jared’s voice is warm, almost fond. “I’ll make it good.” 

He licks Jensen, from tip of his spine down to his sac, has Jensen sitting on his face—pushed so far up the wall he’s on tiptoe, balls in Jared’s mouth, dick resting on Jared’s chin. He kisses them, pulsing hot suction, and drags his teeth along the seam. Opens his mouth wider so they fall in and closes his lips around the base of the sac. 

Jensen wriggles and squeaks, his eyes wide and blind and arms flailing and grasping at brick. Never once thinking he’d ever be _here_ , squirming and spreading himself all over Jared’s mouth and face. Dripping because he’s past holding it in anymore. Not his cries, or his moans, not the drip of his dick or tightly puckered hole. 

Even the skin of Jensen’s balls cling to Mr. Padalecki’s teeth, unwilling to pull away from the pitch and sway of Jared’s tongue. Hips rocking along with the movement, tickled by Mr. Padalecki’s-- _Jared's_ stubbles chin and the prickle of his hair, bits of clay coming off against Jensen cheek because Jensen has to lean against something. 

Jensen doesn’t need to beg. His body does it for him and he might be grinding against Jared too hard because Jared is pulling away from Jensen, far enough away that Jensen can feel the rush of cool air replacing Jared’s face. But Jared’s hands are still on him and that’s good. Really good because that means he hasn’t left Jensen and doesn’t intend to. 

“We need to get these off,” Mr. Padalecki says, pulling Jensen’s briefs down to his ankles. Jensen is finding it hard to swallow, looking at the white damp spill of fabric he’s sidestepping. There’s no stopping ti now. They’re too far in. 

Pressing his brow to the back of his hand, Jensen leans forward, rolling his forehead back and forth across his knuckles, his thighs are slick-wet with Jared’s spit and his own need. 

Jared rucks Jensen’s shirt to the dip of his spine, begins to trace a thumb right over his hole where Jensen’s nothing but pink and wet and the wrong side of too tight. But Jensen is going to take Mr. Padalecki’s dick. _That_ he’s sure of. He’s dreamt of it too often and too long. Jensen is gonna scream his way hoarse and come his way dry riding it if it kills him, gonna take his softball-sized knot till he has no space left to breathe anymore. 

It seems like Mr. Padalecki— _Jared_ , he’s got to get used to calling him Jared—has the same idea because he’s got those clever fingers moving between his asscheeks. 

“Gonna lick you open, okay?” He says like Jensen’s about to refuse. “Gotta get you ready—“ 

Jared’s tongue is soft, gathering Jensen’s slick and feeding it back to him. If Jensen thought his face had been burning before, it’s nothing to what he’s feeling now listening to the dirty squelching, sucking sounds Jared is making, like the world’s messiest, dirtiest kiss. 

It’s a slow process, not that Jensen expected otherwise, he’s doing his best to open up, to relax into each dip of his tongue, each corkscrew, until the hair at the nape of Jensen’s neck begins to curl from the sweat of his effort. 

But Jared is undeterred and patient as a saint. Keeps going--a knuckle at a time, a breath at a time, in the space between one thought and the next, keeps adding more spit to claim more ground. Has Jensen’s belly muscles tightening and his thighs twitching until Jensen starts to shake because it had tickled before, but now it’s beginning to feel really fucking good. It’s got his dick bouncing on air as he squirms and swivels his hips. 

He feels himself lose shape, slacken and dissolve against Jared’s pink, turn-about tongue. Jared is bending and breaking him in. Has Jensen’s hand finding Jared’s hair, until he’s pulling on it and demanding that Jared fuck his tongue deeper and _it’s not enough, come on. Keep goin’. Deeper. Wanna come. Let me. Let me._  

And Jensen’s greedy for it, for Jared, gobbling up Jared’s fingers, three of them now. Jensen’s never touched himself this deeply before, fingers not quite long enough. 

However much Jensen might want to, he doesn’t dare touch his own dick, can’t imagine getting through it without coming. He’s wanted this for so long he needs it to last. Has no idea whether there will be a next time. He’d like to let go of Jared’s hair but can’t entertain the thought of separating from Jared, from the curl of his _tongue_ , the wiggle of his fingers. But if it goes on much longer, Jensen is going to lose it, so he tugs Jared’s hair until they come apart, Jared’s mouth smacking lewdly as they separate. 

Jared gives Jensen enough space to turn around and the sight that greets Jensen sends a static charge through him. Jared has his fly open and his dick out, so big and hard there’s no foreskin for him to tug over the bulbous head. 

Jensen would be lying if he said he’s not a bit intimidated. Because seeing it, _finally_ , glistening red, veins bulging as though carved in stone, he doesn’t think he’s going to make it work and the sound that escapes his throat is nothing short of a prayer. 

It’s Jensen that makes the first move, because if he waits any longer his courage will take flight like a bird. He sets his feet on either side of Jared’s lap, his hands on Jared’s shoulders for balance as Jared squeezes himself at the base, holds himself steady and straight for Jensen, _just_ for Jensen. And that thought, that he’s the one to get Jared this fucked up over him, sends a shiver up his spine.

Jensen swallows as he begins his descent. Encouraged by Jared’s ragged breathing. Grabbing a handful of Jared’s shirt, he hisses his way through it. Jared must sense Jensen’s distress, because he shushes him, slides his palms over Jensen’s thighs, strokes his flanks and kisses his chin, soothing him. 

“Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

Jensen has to pause, which is probably the worst idea he’s ever had, because it hurts and he still has a ways to go and it’s only so long he can hold the squat he’s in and there’s no where to go but down, no place for Jared but in. He almost says, _I can’t_ and _you’re too big_ and _try me again in a few years. Y'know, when my asshole is bigger._ But he can feel a rope of Jared’s precome jet inside him, and he doesn’t think he can let go. 

Jared kneads his ass, looking, just looking, watching Jensen close down on the head of his dick, listening to him make wet sucking sounds as he grasps Jared. 

“That’s it, baby,” he says, “Take it slow. There’s no rush. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

And Jensen can tell he means it because Jared’s hands come to rest on Jensen’s waist, thumbs nearly touching as he holds Jensen up. Jensen couldn’t be more grateful if he tried. And then Jared is kissing him, which is weird considering where Jared’s mouth has been and Jensen can taste himself, slightly briny, almost sweet, but it’s _Jared_ he wants a taste of. _Jared_ he chases as he licks along Jared's palate, his teeth, his tongue. Jensen is so eager Jared doesn’t get a chance to sweep past Jensen’s teeth.

 And Jensen sinks just a little bit more, determined by the thought of Jared fucking load after load inside him, making Jensen heavy and slippery with his come, breaking him in with his knot. 

Jared groans into Jensen’s mouth, shifts as Jensen works himself open in shy, little bounces, jerky little twitches that drive his dick further and further up inside until Jensen loses his footing and slips on the wood floor, collapsing in a sprawl of limbs on Jared’s lap. 

It’s deep agony. It’s ecstasy and Jensen's eyes well over and spill, the stretch is both rich and painful. There is no part of Jensen that Jared isn’t pressed up against and if

Jensen wasn’t so wet, there would be no room to move either. 

“Oh, God. Jensen, you okay, sweetheart?” His hands slide up under Jensen's shirt, around his back, fingers sliding down the cleft of Jensen's ass to check for injuries or something because there's no way he didn't break Jensen. 

Jensen can’t speak, but he smiles through his tears, face turned into Jared's throat, can only nod and concentrate on adjusting. _People do this all the time, he reminds himself._ He’s not a kid. He’s not--

He’s still scared to move though. Because _holy shit_ \--it's big. 

“Can you please fuck me now, Mr. Padalecki,” he brings himself to say, surprised it comes out forceful and confident and Jensen’s gonna have to do it again because Jared is beaming at him, all perfect white teeth and dimples. 

“You’re so good to me,” Jared says, beginning to move, pressed up against all the soft places inside of Jensen. “Christ, you gonna wring me dry. Might as well be wearing a cock ring you’re so tight. Wonder if you’re gonna let me come at all. Wanna come in you, baby. You gonna let me? Gonna let me breed you? Knot you? Gonna let me pump you full of my pups? One after the other? Never gonna stop,” Jared whispers between licking the tear tracks on Jensen’s cheeks and sucking on Jensen’s mouth, groping Jensen’s nipples through the cloth of his wifebeater, pinching them with his teeth. 

“Gonna keep you barefoot and pregnant all the time, gonna make that little belly grow and harden like a basketball with babies. Gonna rock them to sleep inside you every night while I fuck you. You gonna let me?” 

What is Jensen supposed to say to that? No one can blame him for the emphatic yes that squeezes itself out between soft little _uh, uh, uhs._  

“Yes, please, Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen moans in case he’s left any room for him to doubt. 

_“Jared.”_

  _“Jared,”_ Jensen repeats. 

“Fuck, say my name again, Jensen. Wanna hear you say it as I fuck you.” 

Yeah, Jensen is so onboard with that and Jared’s dick must be pressed up against his diaphragm because he’s shouting it, like Jared’s shoving his name out of Jensen. They tip over onto the floor and Jensen knows instinctively to wreathe his arms around Jared’s neck. No choice but to hold on, split open on the solid weight and girth of Jared’s dick, like a Roman column. 

He pulls out of Jensen long enough to flip him over and slides back in, easier but not by much and he’s really fucking Jensen now, pulling Jensen’s asscheeks apart and Jensen knows Jared’s looking at them, where Jensen swallowing him up and must be red as a cherry pit. No way he’s not. Jensen’s never been wetter. 

“I can feel you,” he tells Jared, “I can feel you right _here_ ,” and he grabs one of Jared’s wrists and guides his hand to the spot below his navel. “In here,” he moans, because he really does, a pulsing ache that makes Jensen clench up.

 Jared growls, chest to Jensen’s back, his mouth nipping his ear. 

“Yeah?” Jared’s voice comes out hushed, like he’s trying to keep it a secret. “ _Gonna be coming in there_ ,” he says, “gonna make a pup with you, maybe two, split those cells in half if I fuck you hard enough, you gonna let me, sweetheart? Gonna open wider? Gonna let me feed you my knot? You’re so hungry for it, so greedy, you keep trying to suck me back in.” 

Jared’s telling the truth. Jensen is greedy. Never wants to let Jared out again. 

“ _Mmm-huh_ ,” Jensen bites out, his knees skidding out from under him, but Jared’s got a hold on him, arm belted over his waist and pulling Jensen back violently on his dick. 

And oh, shit, oh fuck, Jensen can feel Jared’s knot forming and he should have thought twice, because it’s tugging at his rim and it hurts, but Jared keeps pulling it out and putting it back in and Jensen keeps taking it. His thighs are shaking and so are his hands, because he doesn’t know if he can take it. Jared’s about to claim him and fuck all what everyone is gonna say about Jensen, or about them. 

Jared’s got enough money to buy his mother's blessing, but more importantly, Jensen _wants_ this. Wants Jared’s hands all over him. Wants Jared sucking him awake by milking his nipples, rocking him gently on his dick because Jensen is swollen up with his babies. Wants the painful stretch of his knot holding him open morning, noon, and night. 

That right there is what makes Jensen orgasm, a white hot burst that starts in his belly and radiates everywhere else, but Jared grips him tight, fighting to stay inside Jensen through each crushing ripple, until they peter out into useless fluttering. 

But Jared isn’t done, he rotates his hips, keeps tugging, pressing on Jensen’s prostate and making him spasm and squeeze and then Jared’s coming inside him. It’s hot, literally hot, flooding Jensen and it makes Jensen’s toes curl in happiness. 

The first sour smell of them is gone, now there is only the sweet funk of sex. They sit up in unison, Jensen on Jared’s lap, tied tightly together, sticky with sweat and slick and come and breathing hard enough to fog the windows of Jared’s studio. Jensen thinks of drawing happy faces on the glass. Maybe their names with a heart around it. 

Jared’s fingertips find Jensen’s cheekbone and Jensen turns his face into the palm of Jared’s hand, tipping his mouth to Jared’s until their lips snag together and Jensen’s voice vibrates contentedly between them.

**


End file.
